


Chief Grayling

by wingthing



Series: The EQ Alternaverse [22]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: EQ Alternaverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingthing/pseuds/wingthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grayling's journey from uncertain hunter to chief of the Jackwolf Riders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chief's Son

An infant’s cry broke the silence of the night. Another Wolfrider had been born.   
Rain bound and cut the birth-cord, and handed the baby back to its mother. Trueflight cradled the mewling child against her breast. “My little fish,” she whispered softly. 

At her side, her elder son Strongbow grinned from ear to ear, a rare expression ever since a hunting accident took his father from him. **Bearclaw will be so pleased,** he sent. 

Trueflight’s smile soured. “I’ve no doubt.” 

**I’ll call him in to see you.** Already he was turning towards the door. 

**No!** Trueflight sent. Strongbow turned back, confused. 

“Give mother and son a little time yet,” Rain said gently. 

Strongbow scowled. At length he stalked out of the den. Trueflight paid him no mind, her eyes trained on her little son. At length the baby ceased his wails of protest long enough to open his eyes and gaze up at his mother. 

Gray eyes. Just like Bearclaw’s. Trueflight sighed, a little sadly. 

“My little fish. I should call you my Grayling.” 

* * * 

It was nearly dawn when Rain emerged from the den, carrying the babe in his arms. Trueflight limped out behind him, a little unsteady on her legs. Moonshade and seventeen-year-old Rainsong hastened to help her. Strongbow rushed up to take the baby from Rain’s arms. “My little brother...” he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. 

Chief Bearclaw raised his eyebrows expectantly. At his side his lovemate Joyleaf patted his arm. “Go and see your son,” she whispered. “You’ve waited so long for another child.” 

“Don’t rush me, lovemate,” he growled back nervously. 

“His is a fine Wolfrider’s soulname,” Trueflight said. “And the tribe may call him Grayling.” 

“Grayling...” Bearclaw took a step closer. A hesitant smile graced his angular face. 

**Grayling!** Strongbow proclaimed in sending. **A fine name for a future chief!** 

Bearclaw stopped in mid-step. The entire Wolfrider tribe seemed to freeze as one. The silence that descended was cold as brightmetal. All eyes turned to the chief, whose countenance abruptly soured. 

At length Bearclaw spoke. “I have not named that child my heir,” he growled. 

Strongbow frowned. **But, my chief, he is your son. My little brother – your son!** he added in locksending. **Born of Recognition. Of course he will be your heir.** 

**And I will take your mother to mate and toss Joyleaf aside like last winter’s leathers?** Bearclaw countered in locksending. **Don’t think I haven’t seen your plotting these last two years. You’d love well to advance your mother to chief’s mate.** 

**My chief... it is... Recognition!** Strongbow blurted out. 

“Aye, and most unwanted!” he snapped back aloud. “An unwanted Recognition and an unwanted child!” 

A gasp went up from the tribe. A moment later Bearclaw realized his own words and he bowed his head. “I didn’t mean that,” he grumbled churlishly. “No child is unwanted. But this Recognition, with this mate – that I did not look for, and that unwanted bond I now consider fulfilled.” He turned back to Joyleaf and flashed her a nervous smile. “Joyleaf is my heart’s desire, not Trueflight.” 

**Bearclaw,** Joyleaf sent softly. **I’ve no doubt of your love for me. Now is not the time–** 

“No, now is the perfect time!” He swung back on the tribe. “Many of you have watched my steps too carefully these past two turns of the seasons. Many of you expected I would name Trueflight my lifemate. But I want none of her and she wants none of me. Isn’t that right, archer?” 

Trueflight’s eyes were like ice. “My heart’s desire is departed this world, and I shall never look to another. I am content to raise my son and run with the Hunt. I desire neither lifemate nor lovemate. But whether I shall raise my son to be a hunter or a chief’s heir, that choice I leave to you, my chief.” 

“He is the chief’s son,” Joyleaf touched Bearclaw’s shoulder gently. “My old badger, I know you do not want to wound me,” she whispered. “But you have a son. Go and hold him. Accept him as yours. Cubs are such rare treasures, even if they do not arrive as we would wish.” 

Bearclaw grunted softly. Clumsily, he walked over to Strongbow and held out his hands for the baby. Strongbow handed the child over to him – a little too eagerly – and Bearclaw fumbled to support the baby’s head. 

“No, like this,” Trueflight said, repositioning his hands. 

Bearclaw looked down at the infant. “Hmph,” he muttered. “He’s... he’s got my eyes, doesn’t he? Hmm... my son.” 

He looked up, and found himself staring at Strongbow’s proud smile and Trueflight’s mournful gaze. 

His eyes drifted out over the tribe. Everyone was watching him so expectantly. 

Joyleaf was smiling, but there was sadness in her eyes. 

Bearclaw glanced back at the beaming Strongbow. 

“Your son, my chief,” Strongbow whispered. 

Bearclaw’s lip curled back in a snarl. He shoved the infant into Trueflight’s arms, and Grayling began to cry. 

“But not my heir!” he snapped, so close to Strongbow’s face that spittle landed on his cheek. “And don’t think to push him into my heart, nor your mother into my furs. I’m not your father, and I’ll not be used by your foolish dreams.” 

Strongbow retreated, stunned. “Bearclaw...” 

“I am chief, not you! And not some snivelling infant! I decide who succeeds me!” 

He stormed over to Joyleaf and yanked her around by her wrist. “She will be mother of chiefs!” he shouted. 

**You – you cannot deny Recognition!** Strongbow shot back. 

“My son but not my heir!” Bearclaw repeated coldly. “I say Trueflight’s son will not wear the chief’s lock!” 

Grayling was howling with fear now, and Trueflight hastened back her den, shushing her frantic child. The tribe dispersed warily, no one daring to provoke Bearclaw further with an ill-chosen word. Joyleaf turned and jogged back to her own den. Bearclaw continued to pin Strongbow with his gaze. 

“I am chief, not you, and not your brother!” 

And such was Grayling’s introduction to the tribe. 

* * * 

“Grayling! Where have you been? You’re soaking wet. What happened!” 

The five-year-old cub shrugged. He wrung the water out of his brown hair as he shifted from one foot to the other in the threshold of the den. “I was playing by the river.” 

She seized him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him into the den. “Wasn’t anyone with you?” 

“No. They were all busy. I went to play by myself.” 

She cuffed him upside the head. “Oww, Mother!” he protested. 

She tore his tattered jacket from his shoulders and slapped him on the cheek, just lightly enough to make his face screw up in irritation. Then she sank down on her knees, took him by the shoulders and shook him. “Don’t you realize how dangerous it is to wander off by yourself? You don’t even have a wolf-friend to look out for you! You – you could have been attacked by some forest beast. You could have fallen in deep water!” 

He laughed. “Momma! I know how to swim.” 

His bravado was ill-timed, and she slapped his cheek again, a little harder this time. Her brown eyes were wild, her voice rose in pitch. “You stupid cubling! Don’t you understand how dangerous the world is? One misstep and you could be taken from me, as swiftly as your father – I mean as Strongbow’s father was!” 

Grayling tried to protest, but she seized his wrist and dragged him out of the den. She stalked through the Holt, Grayling in tow, until she finally found Strongbow with Brownberry. “You? Where were you? Your little brother could have drowned and you weren’t there to protect him?” 

Strongbow blinked. He looked at his mother, then at Grayling. Before he could answer, Trueflight released Grayling so she could cuff Strongbow. “He’s your brother and you’re willing to let him drown! How can you?” 

**Mother, you’re overwrought. Calm down–** 

“Don’t you tell me to calm down!” 

Grayling turned and ran from the scene. He knew how it would play out. Trueflight would scream and rant and become as mad as a wolf with foaming sickness. She would strike Strongbow – and anyone who crossed her – until her moods swung the other way, and then she would became cold and withdrawn, and she would forget she even had a child. 

Grayling hid behind a large bush, hoping his mother wouldn’t find him until the madness left her. He feared the cold Trueflight less than the manic one. 

Not surprisingly, it was Joyleaf who found him. “Hello, little cub. How did you get so wet?” 

“Fell in the creek,” Grayling muttered. 

“I see,” she ran her fingers through his wet hair. “And your mother is upset.” 

“You heard her.” 

“The entire Holt heard her.” 

“Why is she so... wild?” 

Joyleaf smiled sadly. “She was not always so. You know, Strongbow was only a year older than you are now when a hog’s tusks took Hawk away from his family. Trueflight grieved deeply – became cold as ice one moment and wild as a she-bear the next. It was like that until Strongbow was fully grown and had proven himself in the hunt. Then Trueflight became ice permanently. After a while we became so used to her coolness that we thought it normal. We thought she had healed. But when she Recognized your father.... Something inside her broke, I think, that day. A dam burst, and all the sorrow she held inside her since Hawk died flooded out anew.” 

“She doesn’t like Father.” 

“She respects him, as any tribemate should respect a fine chief. And she loves him in her own way, as she loves us all in different ways. But she swore never to have another lovemate after Hawk, and she keeps that vows to this day.” 

“I don’t like Father.” 

Joyleaf stiffened. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t notice me. He works hard not to notice me!” 

Joyleaf stroked his hair softly. “Your father is... a difficult elf sometimes. He and your brother have clashed many times.” 

“Strongbow wishes Bearclaw was his father.” 

“I daresay he does. He hardly remembers his own father.” 

“I wish Hawk was my father.” 

“Why, cubling?” 

“Because then Mother would love me... the way she loves Strongbow. And then Bearclaw wouldn’t always work so hard not to see me.” 

Joyleaf kissed the top of his head. “We all wish for things which cannot be. That is the folly of our hearts. Wisdom is learning to accept what is here and now.” 

* * * 

**Keep your elbow tucked back!** Strongbow instructed the twelve-year-old Grayling harshly. **Hold your arm level!** 

“I’m trying, Strongbow!” Grayling protested. 

**You’re not trying hard enough. When I was your age I was already hunting with our chief.** 

Grayling thrust the bow at him. “Then you take it and hunt! I’m not you, Strongbow!” 

Anger flashed in Strongbow’s eyes. Then his expression mellowed. **I’m trying to help you, Grayling. I know it’s hard. But... surely you can’t be content to be a gatherer alongside Brownberry and Rainsong. You have a hunter’s blood in your veins, little brother. The blood of Bearclaw and Trueflight – the blood of the finest hunters! You’ll lead the hunt one day.** 

“Not if Bearclaw has anything to say about it,” Grayling muttered under his breath. 

**Then show the old strutter-cock what you’re capable of.** Strongbow shoved the bow back into his hands. **Now line up your sights. Keep your left arm level. Close the inner eye. Breathe – you’re too tense. Come, Grayling, you’re quivering like a leaf.** 

Grayling tried to line the sights with the tree. But his left arm continued to shake. 

“You’ll never kill anything with that arm,” Bearclaw chuckled as he intruded on the scene. “Come on, Strongbow, you’ll never make an archer of him. Better you teach him to hold a spear in the other arm.” 

**He’s the very arrow shot from our mother’s bow, Bearclaw,** Strongbow said defensively. **He’ll be riding with us before long. By Skyfire, boy, keep your arm level!** Strongbow forced Grayling’s left arm rigid. 

Bearclaw laughed. “A spear, I say. That’s the weapon for the lad. Give him a spear and some heavy work to put some flesh on his bones.” He gave Grayling the closest he could manage to a friendly smile. Grayling looked away, and Bearclaw scowled. “But he’s your brother, Strongbow. You continue this folly if it suits you.” 

**A bow is a fitting weapon for a Blood of Chiefs,** Strongbow sent. 

“Don’t start that again,” Bearclaw growled. “Unless you have the guts to challenge yourself, you leave the boy out of this.” 

“Can’t deny blood,” Strongbow murmured under his breath. **Curse it, Grayling, hold your right arm higher!** 

Grayling threw the bow down. The string snapped. “No!” 

Strongbow straightened. He pointed to the bow. **Don’t you dishonour your weapon. Now pick it up.** 

Grayling held his ground. 

**Pick it up!** Strongbow’s lip curled back in a snarl. 

Grayling seized the bow and snapped it in two over his knee. Bearclaw laughed out loud at Strongbow’s horrified expression. “There’s your chief in training, Strongbow!” 

“I’m not a chief in training!” Grayling shouted. “I don’t want to be chief!” 

**Quiet,** Strongbow locksent. 

“You want me to be chief so you can say you’re the chief’s brother!” 

**I want what’s best for you!** 

“You want the chief’s lock! You want Bearclaw’s blood. But I don’t – I don’t want anything to do with either of you!” He threw remnants of the bow away and stalked off, leaving the flustered Bearclaw and Strongbow alone. 

To his surprise, it was Bearclaw who came to him first once tempers cooled. 

“I never said I don’t want you,” Bearclaw said, his expression surly. “You should choose your words more carefully... son.” 

Grayling shrugged. “You chose yours well... Father.” 

“I see. And if I were to name you my heir, set you above any children I might have with Joyleaf... would you call me ‘Father’ with less hesitation then?” 

“I don’t want to be chief! And I don’t want to be a hunter! I want a father who’ll support me and guide me, that’s all.” 

“Of course I’ll guide you, Grayling. You have only to come to me.” 

“Couldn’t you to come to me, first?” he implored. 

Bearclaw frowned, confused. “I... can’t read cubs like I can deer tracks, Grayling. You expect too much from me, if you want me to see into your soul.” 

Grayling snorted. “I expect too much. From my father. I understand, my chief.” 

“Don’t show your teeth to me, cubling, or I’ll make you show throat. I won’t tolerate that from any tribemate, let alone my son.” 

Grayling looked away. 

“Be a gatherer! Be a tanner! Be whatever you want!” Bearclaw exclaimed in exasperation. “It’s clear you are the one who wishes we weren’t kin!” 

Grayling waited until Bearclaw was well out of earshot before he began to cry. 

* * * 

The sixteen-year-old Grayling speared a fat trout from the stream and tossed it to the bank. Rillfisher rushed in to finish the dying fish in one sharp blow to the head. “Hah!” she laughed. “A good one. Woodhue will be overjoyed.” 

“And Longbranch too,” Grayling added. “Hang on, I see another one!” Another swift thrust of the spear, and the fish flopped onto the riverbank. 

The hunters returned, Bearclaw, Strongbow and Trueflight leading the pack. Behind them, Joyleaf, Redmark, and Kindle towed a large buck behind them on a travois of sticks. “Hah, good fishing I see,” Bearclaw chuckled. “But fish don’t fill the stomach like red meat!” 

“Don’t feel bad,” Rillfisher said when they had passed. “Hunters never see beyond the bloodsong.” 

“Strongbow should be happy,” Grayling chuckled under his breath. “The less Bearclaw cares for me, the more often Strongbow rides at his side like an heir.” 

“You should be Blood of Chiefs,” Rillfisher said softly. “And Strongbow’s not the only one who thinks so.” 

“I don’t want to be chief.” 

“Bearclaw has no other heir... save his cousin Kindle. If he should die – with no named heir...” Rillfisher led Grayling away from the stream and continued in locksending: **There could be factions... too many contenders coming forth at once. Kindle... your brother... perhaps even Joyleaf or Treestump. We all know Longbranch’s tales... the break between Two-Spear and Skyfire, or the confusion when Freefoot died, leaving his sons and hunters to quarrel.** 

“I don’t care about that.” 

“You should. The tribe’s welfare may one day be in your hands.” 

“Let Kindle or Joyleaf fight for the chief’s lock,” he growled low. “I never asked to be the chief’s son.” 

Rillfisher shook her head sadly. “You’re still young.” 

Now Grayling bristled. “I understand well enough.” 

He left the river and walked through the familiar paths of the Holt. He wished the tribe would stop whispering about Blood of Chiefs and heirs and the succession of the chief’s lock. Perhaps if the elves could just accept that he would never be chief... perhaps then Bearclaw would not feel he had to shun Grayling just to preserve his absolute authority. 

“Hey there, cub,” Pike dropped down from the trees. 

“I’m not a cub.” 

“Oh, you’re in a mood. Don’t tell you and your sire crossed paths again. You should go find Rillfisher, huh? She’ll soothe those tensions away, hey?” 

Grayling frowned. “What are you talking about?” 

“Come on, Grayling.” He gave the youth a nudge. “You two are always together at the stream. You said yourself – you’re no cub. You telling me you two aren’t....” he gave him another suggestive nudge. 

“No,” Grayling said. “We’re not! I... I don’t look to maidens.” 

“Oh, come on,” Pike chuckled. 

“I don’t. I... I don’t like them.” He looked at Pike. “I like you,” he said bluntly. 

Pike blinked. “Oh. Oh... well...” a slow smile spread across his full cheeks. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

* * * 

Mournful howls rose up from Goodtree’s Rest. Foaming sickness had struck the Holt. A bite from Moonsbreath’s wolf had left Rain stricken and semi-conscious in his den. His strength failing, it was all he could to continue fighting the disease in his blood. There was no healer now to save the others who now sickened. The wolfpack had been halved by the grieving elves, and the bodies of the infected thrown into the river to be swept downstream, away from the Holt. But it was already too late for some. 

Redmark was sobbing in Brownberry’s arms. His mother Fawnspot was dead. She too had been bitten – not by a wolf, but by a racoon she had tried to catch. The foaming sickness had taken her quickly, paralyzing her body first. But a kind death was little comfort to her son. He had not even been able to kiss her goodbye, even in death, for fear of contagion. 

Her body too, had been given to the river, to be taken far away from the Holt. 

Trueflight was also ill. And the foaming sickness was not taking her as gently as it had Fawnspot. She was even now bound to her bed, to keep her from hurting herself. 

“Can’t the trolls offer some kind of help?” Grayling asked Bearclaw. “They have great skill in herblore.” 

Bearclaw shook his head. “High Ones know I tried, cub. Offered to pay old King Greymung anything if he could offer me hope. But he turned me down. ‘Our potions are for trolls, not elves. And nothing kills the white-foam, elf. A dagger’s the only cure.’” 

“That’s no cure!” 

“It may be all that’s left to us.” 

“Rain will recover. He’ll fight the infection.” 

“Foaming sickness is a ruthless predator, cub. Even if Rain recovers... it may be too late.” 

“But we’ve all got scratches and nips from tussling with our wolves and hunting in the woods! Father – this foaming sickness is everywhere this season. Racoons, treewees, wolves – and who knows how many of our healthy-looking wolves are developing the sickness even now. If Rain can’t recover... and if the trolls can’t help us.” 

Bearclaw shrugged. “I... I can barely remember the stories of my father... of the last time the foaming sickness struck us. It kills many of us. But never all.” 

“So all we can do is sit and wait and watch our kin die?” 

“What would you have me do, Grayling?” he growled. 

“Go back to the trolls! Beg them for anything. Even if they say it won’t work. Even if they say it’s poison to elves. Any potion they can mix for high fevers or paralysis. Something must work!” 

Bearclaw shook his head. “The trolls are no answer. Greedy creatures... they’d take everything we have and give us nothing but a cup of slime-water. No, I won’t crawl and beg and let them think they can take advantage of our tribe!” 

“You have to do something! You can’t simply sit and wait–” 

“Enough!” Bearclaw’s face darkened. “It’s not your place to tell me what to do, lad. You tend to your mother. Leave the run of the tribe to me.” 

“You cannot let her die!” 

“I said ‘enough.’” 

“Don’t you have any feeling for her? If it were Joyleaf ill you’d go to the trolls–” 

Bearclaw struck Grayling across the face, and the blow sent him reeling. 

“Enough, boy! I’ve given you more patience than your ramblings deserve. Now go tend your mother.” For a moment his voice seemed to soften. “Don’t let her die alone... while you prattle on.” 

Grayling retreated. But he did not go to his mother’s den. Instead he sought out Rain’s den. The healer lay motionless in his bed. Occasionally a little twitch of his lips or tick about his closed eyes betrayed his dire condition. His lifemate Moonsbreath mopped his brow with a damp leather. In the corner of the den, the infant Shale was sleeping in his hammock. 

“How is he?” 

“He’s a fighter,” Moonsbreath said. “But the sickness spread fast... so much faster than usual.” Her eyes fell to a bound wound at Rain’s side. He had tried to heal Moonsbreath’s sick wolf. After he fell Bearclaw ordered all wolves with so much as a nervous twitch shot from the safety of the trees. 

“He sent to me a little while ago,” Moonsbreath added. “He’s so alone... inside himself.” 

Grayling kept a respectful slience. 

“He's asked if anyone has died from the sickness. I've lied and told him that only the wolves have suffered.” 

Grayling started. “Can you lie? In sending?” 

Moonsbreath sighed. “When one is this sick... it's harder to tell. I only hope he believes me.” 

Rain began to shiver, and Moonsbreath threw a fur over him. “He’s always either too hot or too cold.” 

“Can you not tell when he will recover?” 

“The next days are the crucial ones. He will awake again before the second coming sunrise... or my children shall lose their father, and I...” she shook her head sadly. She looked over at her infant son. “Shale... he's been fussing lately... coughing... refusing to nurse for long. He knows something's wrong.” 

Grayling left Moonsbreath to her grief and returned to his mother’s den. 

He found Trueflight thrashing in her bed. Rainsong was trying to offer her drink, but Trueflight whimpered and tossed her head as if Rainsong were offering her poison. She was convulsing in pain, and the muscles in her throat and jaw clenched and flexed under her skin. 

“Don’t get too close,” Grayling warned. 

“She won’t take food or drink. She’ll die from thirst before she dies from this.” 

“That might be a blessing,” he whispered. 

The hunters returned from the forest, with little to show for their night’s work. Few still had wolves to ride, and no one dared bring in a warm-blooded beast to eat, for fear of the foaming sickness. A few birds was all they had to feed a hungry tribe. Grayling, Rillfisher and Woodhue had speared enough fish in the stream and pools to keep everyone’s bellies reasonably full, while Woodlock and Moonshade hunted for nuts and berries. It was enough... for now. 

“Come, Redmark,” Brownberry urged the youth. “Let’s go pluck these birds.” 

Redmark slowly got to his feet and followed her. His gaze was hollow, his eyes bloodshot with tears. 

“Where are Amber and Thistlemane?” Joyleaf asked. “They left to hunt on their own. But they should have come back now.” 

It was nearly morning before they had their answer. Woodlock’s parents sent an open sending to the entire tribe. **We have suspected the worst for days, and now we know. Fever... pain in our throats when we try to swallow... pain in our stomachs... such pain shooting through our bodies. We don’t intend to die in torment and fear. We want to die on our feet, as Wolfriders, not as mad beasts. Farewell, our tribemates.** 

Woodlock collapsed in horror, and the tribe knew his parents had sent him a more intimate farewell. Strongbow and Bearclaw led a team to find the hunters, while Grayling remained in camp, tending Trueflight. She fell into a sleep for a few hours, a small mercy. 

The sun was just rising when Trueflight’s spasms returned. She tossed and fought against her bonds, and Grayling wedged a stick in her mouth to keep her from biting her tongue. 

He knew that Rain would never recover in time to save her. 

His hand drifted down to his dagger. It was the kindest thing to do. 

But he could not. He was no hunter. He had no idea how best to strike, how best to spare her pain. 

**Mother?** he tried sending. 

The reply was garbled, like one trying to send through a bad dream. 

**Hawk... lifemate? You?** 

Grayling hesitated. **Yes, lifemate. It’s me.** 

She was so far gone in the fever she didn’t recognize the distinctive sending of her own son. **Forgive... lifemate... forgive....** 

**For what?** 

**Should have... fought.... Recognition – kill... die rather than betray... forgive...** 

Grayling winced. **There’s nothing to forgive, lifemate. I only wish.... I had lived... we could have raised your son together.** 

**Child... should have been yours... how proud you would have been...** 

**I’ve watched him... I... I am proud... very.** 

**He’s... not a hunter... but... he’s a fine boy... worry – him – worry... such a gentle heart... such a weak bow arm...** 

**He will be fine. He has his brother and father to care for him.** 

**They... don’t understand... don’t... accept.... He’s all alone. Hawk... Sier...** 

**Come join me, lifemate,** Grayling sent as the tears rolled down his cheeks. **Stop fighting... just... let go.** 

**Sier... I can’t leave him...** 

**You can, Mother,** Grayling sent softly. He touched her forehead. **Go with your lifemate. Go find Sier.** 

Her muscles clenched once more, and she bucked against the leather straps. Then she fell back against the bed, and the tension eased form her limbs. Grayling cut her bonds and held her close as he felt the warmth gradually leave her body. 

The hunters returned by noon, bearing the bodies of Amber and Thistlemane. Grayling staggered out of the tree-den to meet them. 

“Aye, they’re gone,” Bearclaw growled. “Found them in each other’s arms at the base of the old ravine. Amber knew herblore well – looks like they took some smoke-thistle root. A quick death... and far gentler than the sickness would have given them.” 

“Trueflight’s dead,” Grayling blurted out. 

Strongbow bowed his head. Bearclaw looked away. 

“Did you hear me, Father?” Grayling said. “My mother is dead!” 

“I heard you, cub,” Bearclaw growled. He raised his hand as if to brush his long bangs out of his face. 

“And you feel nothing?” 

Bearclaw withdrew his hands and Grayling saw the tears in his eyes. “Don’t tell me what I feel and don’t feel, whelp!” 

That night they howled for Trueflight, Amber and Thistlemane. Strongbow and Bearclaw howled the loudest. Longbranch comforted his grandson Woodlock, and once the bodies were lashed to logs and set adrift on the water, the two withdrew to the woods for quiet contemplation. Redmark climbed high into the trees to continue mourning his mother in solitude. 

Two days later, little Shale began to grow listless, and Moonsbreath feared the worst. 

The day after that, Rain finally emerged from his coma. 

Shale regained his strength in his father’s care. No further wolves grew ill. Within a few months the Holt was almost back to normal. 

One day Grayling picked up his mother’s bow and tried once again to learn to shoot. His left arm still would not keep steady. 

“She was a grand huntress, lad,” Bearclaw finally said, after secretly watching his son try and fail at archery for close to a month. “But she wouldn’t want you to be what you’re not. And you’re no archer, that’s certain. Stick to your fishing spear and keep our bellies full of your namesake.” 

“I want her to be proud of me,” Grayling protested. 

“She is, lad. I’m sure she is.” 

Grayling looked at Bearclaw. “And are you proud of me, Father?” 

Bearclaw gave an uncomfortable shrug. “You’re a good lad, Grayling.” He patted his shoulder clumsily. “Of – of course I am. One day... you might make a good chief after all.” 

Grayling opened his mouth to protest. But he checked himself. If that was the only way Bearclaw could express his love for his child, then so be. It was enough. And Grayling gave a shy nod.


	2. Chief's Brother

The elders always said that life always followed death. And six years after Trueflight’s death, her first grandchild was born. It was apparent from the start that baby Crescent had inherited all her father and grandmother’s talent. By the age of three she was already using the little arrow-whip training tool flawlessly. 

“Here’s a pupil worthy of Trueflight’s bow,” Grayling said when he presented his niece with the old longbow. 

“Why don’t you use it, Uncle?” the cub asked. 

He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “I don’t use a bow. I use a spear.” 

**A fishing spear!** Strongbow snorted. 

“I want to learn how to fish,” Crescent squeaked. “Teach me how?” 

Grayling blinked. It was the first time anyone had wanted to learn from him. “Of course.” 

* * * 

“Did you see Crescent bring down that buck with one shot?” Moonshade gloated as they all shared the meat from fifteen-year-old Crescent’s first big kill. 

“I’d hunt a long better if I had a wolf-friend,” Crescent sighed. 

“You’ve have one soon enough,” Grayling said. “It always happens in its own time.” 

“No one has to wait this long!” Crescent pouted. 

“Shh, daughter,” Moonshade soothed. “This is a proud day for you. Every Wolfrider knows the joy of a wolf-friend, in time. But not every Wolfrider can feed the entire tribe with one kill.” 

“I’m a joke of a Wolfrider,” Crescent confessed to Grayling as they relaxed in the dreamberry patch that night. “A Wolfrider without a wolf. And don’t tell me it happens in its own time. That worked when I was eight... and eight-and-four – but I’ll be two eights old next new-green, and I refuse to believe it’s natural for an elf of two eights to have no wolf-friend.” 

Grayling could say nothing to cheer her. So he plucked a dreamberry off the bush and bounced it off her nose. Crescent giggled, her cares forgotten. And Grayling encircled her waist in a tight embrace. It seemed the sorrows of the past were over. 

* * * 

Crescent got her wolf-friend when she turned eighteen. But not before the cub’s mother was killed and the pup itself brutalized by the human filth. They had thought the humans simple beasts, no different from a rival wolfpack. Rivals beasts that needed to be driven out. But they were wrong. 

“We have to make them leave us alone,” Grayling begged Bearclaw. 

“I told them to leave,” Bearclaw growled. “And if they don’t listen... then we’ll have to ride in their camp and drive them out.” 

“You told them to leave before! Three turns have passed, and they still haven’t left. They’re growing bolder, Father! First they threw spears at us. Now they’ve killed our wolves. How long before one of their spears hit home?” 

“And what would you have me do, little fish?” Bearclaw chuckled. 

Grayling’s eyes darkened. “My mother used to call me that.” 

Bearclaw remembered, grew uncomfortable. “Don’t trouble me, Grayling. We’ll send those humans running soon enough. I gave them their warning. If they refuse to hear it... well then,” he chuckled. “I’ll find a stronger way of reasoning with them.” 

He found his way of reasoning. He stole human cubs, some infants, others lanky children almost as tall as elves. Sometimes he left them hanging from tree branches near game trails. Other times he dropped them deep in the woods to find their own way home. Each time Grayling’s fears grew. 

“We can’t keep doing this!” he snapped at Bearclaw. 

“You fuss as much as Joyleaf!” Bearclaw snorted. “Never have I seen a lad squawk and cackle like an old hen.” 

“I’m sure Bearclaw has it all in hand,” Crescent said later. “He’s a good chief. He’s your father, after all.” 

A month later the humans showed how well Bearclaw had matters in hand. Woodhue was carried into camp by a sympathetic wolf. His right eye was gone. 

* * * 

Crescent leaned back against her lovemate as she craned her neck to bite the sprig of dreamberry Pike dangled over her head. Grayling sat down next to the two and snatched the dreamberries for himself. 

“Not fair,” Crescent pouted. “You cheat, Uncle.” 

“There’s more dreamberries in the bushes to be found,” Pike teased. “Why don’t the three of us go have a look...” 

The girl giggled as she got to her feet. “You two can look yourselves. I’ve got my eye on an old fern-fish just beyond Goodtree’s Glen. You know the one, Uncle.” 

“Aye, I know him. You’ll never spear him.” 

Crescent grinned. “Even with all the lessons you’ve given me? I bet you your best fishing spear that we’ll feast on fern-fish tonight!” 

“Deal,” Grayling held out his hands, and they clasped palms on it. Crescent got up from the dreamberry bush. “And be careful,” Grayling called to her retreating back. “The humans are still restless! Don’t chase that fish beyond our boundaries.” 

Crescent laughed back. “The Glen’s well inside our borders. You worry too much, Grayling!” 

* * * 

Crescent was dead. They found her leathers and her broken fishing spear alongside a still patch of water in the meandering stream. 

Leathers... and blood... and the scent of human musk heavy in the air. 

They had taken her from the water where she had speared the old fern-fish. Grayling had found the dead fish at the bottom of the pool. Crescent had won the bet just before her death. 

He took his best fishing spear and buried it in the soft mud of the riverbed. It was a poor howl, but it was all he could give her. 

Strongbow wanted to make war on the humans. Not even the head of the human chief appeased his wrath. **It won’t be done ‘til they’ve all be slaughtered! Every last one!** 

“Is this your answer?” Joyleaf demanded of Bearclaw. “Bring more hatred and rage down on us? Did it bring Crescent back? You’ve only made things worse!” 

Bearclaw wheeled around at her. “You question me? Even YOU?! If this is the thanks I get, I’ll take my company elsewhere!” 

“Go!” Joyleaf screamed at his retreating back. “Go and don’t come back! This tribe is better off without you!” 

They heard the wails from the human camp come sundown. Grayling feared Joyleaf was right; the humans would want revenge. 

Was Joyleaf right about Bearclaw? 

It was foolish to kill the human chief. 

Bearclaw had committed much foolishness lately. Deadly foolishness... 

**They must pay!** Strongbow continued to rage. 

“Killing solves nothing, Strongbow,” Grayling said gently. “Killing won’t bring Crescent back. We must concentrate on what’s to come. We must... we must make sure this never happens again, ever!” 

**What does it matter now? My daughter is gone! And I will have my vengeance!** 

“Strongbow–” 

**Coward! Where were you, anyway? Playing with Pike while my daughter was being stalked by humans?** 

The accusation stung him. He should have been with Crescent. “Strongbow,” Grayling touched his shoulder. Strongbow slapped his hand away. 

**Prattling songbird! Useless fisher with your useless words! Would that you had died instead of my girl!** 

Grayling flinched. “I know you don’t mean that, and I forgive you... this one time.” 

Enraged at his composure, Strongbow slapped him across the face. Grayling flinched again, but did not retreat. “I will forgive that too, but I will not forget as swiftly.” 

**I don’t care!** Strongbow snapped. 

* * * 

“He does not mean that, you know,” Joyleaf told Grayling when she caught up with him later. 

Grayling smiled bitterly. “In sending there is only truth. He may not mean it tomorrow, but he meant it then.” 

Joyleaf stroked his hair softly. “My poor Grayling. I worry for you, sometime. You have all your father’s passions, and your mother’s too. You feel everything... so intensely. Sorrow and joy alike. I remember how overjoyed you were when Shale was born. And I remember how you wept when you watched Crescent take her first steps. But when grief comes... I fear some days you’ll be swallowed up whole by it. Like your father.” 

**It’s his fault Crescent is dead!** Grayling vowed. **He didn’t do enough to save her! He didn’t do enough to save Mother either! He runs and hides in the Now of Wolf-thought and the rest of us be cursed!** 

Joyleaf flinched. “You can’t expect a chief to be without fault... without mistakes.” 

“I can! I can expect everything from a chief!” 

“A chief... or a father you wish you had?” 

“You know Bearclaw is not fit to lead. You said so.” 

“That was anger talking. I only wish... I wish I could make him understand! He will endanger us all if he cannot rise above his own grief and anger. I wish... I wish I could make him see!” 

* * * 

Three years after Crescent’s death Joyleaf made Bearclaw see his folly. The whole holt knew she had challenged him. Now the whole holt waited impatiently for what would happen next. At last Joyleaf returned to Father Tree alone. 

**Where is Bearclaw?** Strongbow demanded. **What have you done with h–** 

Joyleaf was carrying New Moon in her right hand. And her ivy headband had been twisted up to hold a lock of hair above the crown of her head. She and Bearclaw had been feuding alone in the forest for hours, it seemed. And now she had returned, bearing the chief’s lock. 

Grayling sucked in a breath. She seemed transformed. She held her chin higher. She walked with shoulders straighter. Her eyes were cold... sad. 

“What have you done?” Moonshade gasped. 

“I challenged him. He lost. It’s over now.” 

**No!** Strongbow leapt up. **How dare you overthrow our chief?** 

“Is it my right, archer. Or have you forgotten that? We’ve lived too long under the rule of one elf. And his time is over now. I am chieftess now. Bearclaw is gone.” 

“How could you?” Moonshade demanded. “He is our chief.” 

“Wolves will challenge for leadership when the chief wolf is too weak, or is mad with the foaming sickness.” 

**How dare you?** Strongbow thundered. 

Joyleaf turned her eyes on him. **No! How dare you, Strongbow? I am your chief now, not Bearclaw. Do you challenge me? Do you? If so then step forward. If not then keep quiet. Or go and join Bearclaw.** 

Strongbow recoiled. So did Grayling. The transformation was unsettling. 

“I did it so we could all survive,” Joyleaf said. “Bearclaw would have run headlong into the human camp and brought their wrath down on us. Fear, fighting, blood and fire – that is not the Way. Do you not all remember? Two-Spear would have taken us into a deadly battle with the humans – and that’s why Huntress Skyfire challenged him. But Bearclaw kept to the Now too blindly. He forgot that even wolves remember their past wounds and grow beyond them. He was trapped in a cycle – he still is! Don’t think I didn’t try to ease him free. I tried kindness, I tried reason, and I tried patience. But I refused to stand by and let him destroy us.” 

Joyleaf laid down her rules for the tribe bluntly. No one was allowed to leave the Holt’s borders without her permission. Those who were granted permission had to travel in a party of no less than three elves and wolves. No one was to ever initiate contact with humans. No more tricks. No more cut snares. No more stolen food. 

“I refuse to believe the humans will never forget a grudge. Humans die. They re-seed their lands. And gradually they forget. We will not lose another elf to their Pillar of Sacrifice. This I promise you. And I also promise you this – the moment another one of us falls to the humans, I will step down as chief.” 

Strongbow scowled. But Grayling felt emboldened with hope. 

“We will stand by you, Blood of Nine Chiefs,” he said. 

* * * 

“I am making you my heir,” Joyleaf told him that night when she took him aside. “You are Blood of Chiefs. And if need be, I will step down and tie your lock myself.” 

“No, please, Joyleaf. I haven’t the heart to be chief. I’ve never wanted the chief’s lock.” 

“This is why you will surely make a good one. I may never have another child – my first and only daughter perished long before you were born. You are my choice to succeed me. And it is your right.” 

“I don’t care about my rights.” 

“I know. And I do not care for the heavy hand of leadership. And I wish – oh... how I wish I could bolt into the woods and bring Bearclaw back, cleanse him of his darkness and hold him close again. But... it cannot be.” 

Grayling nodded. “Wisdom is learning to accept what is here and now.” 

“You remember.” 

He smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I remember all you’ve taught me, my mother in all but blood.” 

But Joyleaf did have another cub. With Bearclaw’s departure from the tribe Recognition visited the elves twice in eight years. First Eyes High and Shale – once simply occasional lovemates – Recognized. And when their little son Skywise was six years old, Joyleaf crossed paths with Bearclaw one last time. 

Strongbow told them all about the encounter in the forest: the bear hunt gone wrong, Bearclaw’s appearance at the last moment, the strange looks that passed between the outcast and the chieftess. Recognition! Surely Joyleaf would welcome Bearclaw back into the tribe now. 

But she did not. And Bearclaw disappeared into the woods once more. Grayling heard his mournful howls in the early morning, after Joyleaf returned to the Holt. 

**How could she refuse him?** Strongbow brooded. **Recognition is Recognition! How could she spurn him after what they shared?** 

“You would ask me that?” Grayling looked at him askance. 

Strongbow shot him a withering look. **Well, you have what you’ve always wanted. Bearclaw and Joyleaf will have a cub that will take the chief’s lock. You will sunder all responsibility to the tribe and continue in blissful indolence. But I will not pledge myself until I see what manner of cub that she-wolf bears.** 

* * * 

Ten years after Bearclaw’s exile from the tribe, his daughter – the child he had long hoped Joyleaf would bear him – was born. The humans had abandoned the forest the year before, and now even in daylight the Holt rang with joyful noise. Joyleaf presented her to the tribe as was a chief’s right, then retired to sleep away the exhaustion of labour. The infant, however, was less inclined to sleep. Rain lay the newborn child in Grayling’s arms. “Maybe you can lull your sister to sleep.” 

“My sister...” Grayling murmured. “Little Swift.” 

Joyleaf was right. He did feel everything too strongly, both sorrow and joy. 

But now there was only joy, for the little baby had banished his lingering sadness. 

He cradled Swift in his arms as he paced alongside the riverbank. The other elves were slowly retiring to their dens as well, and brother and sister had a quiet moment to themselves. 

The baby fussed and shook her tiny fists. 

“Shh, shh,” Grayling soothed. “Go to sleep, little cub.” 

Swift blinked up at him with huge blue eyes. 

“Just like your mother,” Grayling smiled. “You know... you’ve a very lucky little wolf to have her. You’ll never want for anything with her watching over you.” 

A mournful howl drifted down from the nearby hills. Grayling recognized it instantly. Swift stiffened in her swaddling bundle as though she did too. 

“That’s your father,” Grayling told her gently. “My father too. He... he can’t be here. It’s just as well. He has a goodness deep inside his heart... but there is much anger in it too... and a wildness that cannot be tempered. And... well, he only sees what he wants to, and that’s not wisdom. But you needn’t worry that he’s so far away from us. Because I’ll always be here to look after you.” 

Swift squirmed inside her leather blanket, then settled quietly into the crook of his arm and drifted off to sleep. Grayling gingerly sat down on the ground, careful not to jostle her awake. 

This was how it should be. Not a chief, but a chief’s brother. An elder brother to guide her through the dangers of life... the way he wished he had been guided as a cub. 

He heard Bearclaw howl one more time. He ignored him. 

* * * 

“Grayling?” the little cub looked at him as they lay alongside the riverbank, watching the fish swim lazily below. 

“Hmm?” 

“Why aren’t you and Strongbow friends?” 

“Oh... well... I suppose we are... sometimes...” 

“But you’re not. You’re not close. Not like you and me.” 

He gave the five-year-old a hug. “No. Never like you and me.” 

“Why not?” 

Grayling shrugged. “It... it’s complicated. I was different when I was younger. Angrier. Sadder. I wanted Strongbow to be something he wasn’t. And he wanted me to be something I wasn’t. And it wasn’t good for either of us. But it’s better now, with your mother as chief.” 

“Why not when Father was chief?” 

“It’s complicated,” Grayling said again. “Our father... he made things difficult... more difficult than they should have been.” 

“Why did he leave?” 

“I told you. Because your mother challenged him to be chief and she won.” 

“But when Greystripe took over the pack Fernfoot didn’t leave. He just became second chief wolf.” 

“True. But sometimes it’s better if the former chief leaves. Father never could have stayed, having lost his chief’s lock.” 

Swift wrinkled her nose. “So he goes off into the forest? All alone? And he’s happy?” 

“I imagine... he’s content. If he still lives...” 

“I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t imagine being all alone like that.” 

Again he hugged her. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, do you?” 

* * * 

“Come on, Grayling!” the seven-year-old Swift called over her shoulder. “Catch up!” 

Grayling chased her with feigned clumsiness, tripping over creepers and roots every few steps. Swift laughed and ran faster down the game trail. As soon as she turned her back to him, Grayling accelerated and swept out his arms to catch her. Swift turned on her heel and ably dodged her brother’s grasp. She abandoned the game trail and broke through a thick cluster of ferns, hoping to lose him in the underbrush. 

Too quickly the underbrush vanished and Swift found herself in a clearing. But it was no natural clearing. To Swift’s keen eyes it seemed the trees had all been knocked down by some unseen force. 

“Gotcha!” Grayling swept up her up in bear hug. Then he too noticed where they stood, and he tried to draw her back into the forest. 

“Come on. Joyleaf will have our hides if she finds out how far we strayed.” 

“Wait,” Swift drew away. “Is this where the five-fingered creatures used to live?” 

“The humans. Yes. This was their Holt. Their ‘camp.’” Grayling shuddered. “Now come on.” 

“Why? There’s nothing scary here, just an old rock.” Swift walked over to the spire of limestone and sniffed at it. “It smells... strange... musky. Is that what humans smell like?” 

“Yes. Now come on, cub.” 

She sniffed again. “And an older smell... almost... almost like us. What is it, Grayling? Why does it smell of us? Why does it smell... almost like you?” 

Grayling shuddered again. Yes... he had a poor sense of smell compared to some of the others, but even he could scent that elusive trace of an elf-girl, taken in the prime of youth. 

“You’ll learn later. Not now.” 

* * * 

Five years passed before Swift caught the distinctive smell of humans again. This time she found a far fresher trail. 

“Guess what?!” she exclaimed as she rode into the Holt on Nightrunner’s back. “Guess what I saw! A human!” 

Her outburst did not have the expected reactions 

“All these seasons of peace... gone,” Redmark swore. 

“NO!” Moonshade wailed. “They can’t be back! Not again!” 

**Where?** Strongbow demanded. **How close? How many?** 

“Why are humans so dangerous?” Swift asked Grayling later that evening. “That cub I saw didn’t seem very scary.” 

“A cub, no. But a full-grown human male...” 

“A full-grown male bear is dangerous too. But I’ve never seen that kind of fear in their eyes before.” 

“Bears don’t kill for the pleasure of it... torture animals just to delight in their pain.” 

Swift sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I was too blunt.” Grayling hung his head. “I should have been gentler.” 

“No, no, Grayling. You... you never try to feed me cub-tales like Skywise does. You always tell me the straight truth. Be blunt. Tell me everything.” 

“Humans used to hunt us. Because they thought... I don’t know what they thought. They used to pray to something called ‘Gotara.’ An ancestor, perhaps. A long-dead chief. Perhaps they pray to him even now. And they killed our wolves and hunted us to please their Gotara. They caught One-Eye one day in the woods and tortured him. They put out his eye with a burning stake, and would have killed him if a wolf hadn’t saved him. They learned their lesson when it came to Crescent. They killed her swiftly. 

“They hated us, but Bearclaw helped them in their hatred,” Grayling continued. “He kidnapped human cubs and left them in the forest to howl for their mothers. He cut their snares, poisoned their kills with berries designed to leave them running for the nearest bush. Your mother begged him to stop taunting them, but he wouldn’t. And when Crescent died he killed the human chief. It only made things worse. They started leaving a deadly poison for our wolves. They killed Bearclaw’s wolf. That was what sent him down his final path to madness, and what prompted your mother to challenge him for the chief’s lock.” 

“So... our father is to blame for One-Eye’s blinding... and Crescent’s death.” 

“I used to think so. But he doesn’t bear all the blame.” Grayling hung his head. “Had I gone with Crescent that day... I might have–” 

“But Bearclaw made the humans hate us. He taunted them and baiting them until they couldn’t bear it anymore.” 

“He didn’t know... he couldn’t understand. Something in his head... just couldn’t see how wrong he was. It’s so easy to say ‘The humans stole our kill, so we should steal theirs.’ From there... ‘They killed our wolf, so we should strike at their camp. They killed one of us... we should kill one of them. They want to destroy us all... we should destroy them.’” 

“That’s no answer!” 

“No, it isn’t. And that’s why Joyleaf took the chief’s lock from him. And that’s why... in the end, Bearclaw knew he couldn’t win against her.” 

“I hate him! And I hate that he’s my sire. To think... he’s a part of me.” 

“You shouldn’t hate him. Pity him instead.” 

“I do hate him! High Ones, what if he’s still alive, out there somewhere? What if he ever comes back? What if he tries to take the chief’s lock back from Mother?” 

Grayling hugged her tightly. “He won’t.” 

“What if he does?” 

“Your mother won’t let him. I won’t let him.” He thought of the blows Bearclaw used to deal out to tribemates and the thoughtless cruelty he used to enforce his will. “Don’t you worry about him. He can’t hurt us – he can’t hurt you. I swear, I’ll never let him hurt you.” 

He thought about it later, and fear gripped him as he imagined Bearclaw coming back to the tribe to claim the cub he had always wanted. No, he’d kill the old badger before he’s let him lay a hand on Swift. Suddenly fear bred sudden hatred, and Grayling fought back the dark thoughts that came over him. 

No, he did not hate Bearclaw anymore. How could he hate a ghost? 

* * * 

The human wardrums echoed in the distance. They had become a constant refrain the last month. 

Seventeen-year-old Swift moaned softly. “They give me a headache. Brr... I don’t like it. They’ve been pretty quiet since they came back. Now... the attack on Brownberry and Foxfur... and less than two moons later the drumbeats. It means something bad, doesn’t it, brother?” 

Grayling could only shrug. “I never claimed to understand humans.” 

“It’s that darkness I’ve sensed in the forest... the eerie silence that follows that great night of skyfire.” 

“You might be right.” 

“Strongbow and Moonshade are nervous. Moonshade holds baby Dart like she’d smother him.” 

“Can you blame them?” 

“No.” 

“We should leave this part of the forest... wait for their tempers to fade.” 

“We seem to the be the only ones who think so,” Swift leaned against his shoulder. “Even Skywise looks at me like I’m mad when I say we ought to make a second Holt somewhere away from the human camp.” 

“Skywise...” Grayling flashed her a grin. “So tell me... are you two... yet? 

Swift wrinkled her nose. “He’s my brother, Grayling, not my lovemate! I... I couldn’t imagine ever... joining with him.” 

“Couldn’t?” Grayling considered a moment. “I could... if I didn’t know how... devoted he is to maidens.” 

Swift giggled. 

“So he’s just your brother, eh?” 

Swift straightened to look at him better. “You’re not jealous, are you? That... that Skywise and I are as close as brother and sister? I would hate to think you fear he’s taken something from you.” 

Grayling smiled gently. “Of course not.” 

She gave him a bear hug. “I know you always liked being the only lad in my life, when I was a baby.” 

“That’s certainly not the case now, is it?” he teased. “Skywise... and Pike...” 

“You’re sure you don’t mind sharing him?” she asked. “I’d hate to think I’ve stolen my own brother’s lovemate.” 

“Pike was made to be shared.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” she murmured under her breath. 

Grayling laughed and caught her in a hug again. “Ah, where’s the little girl who couldn’t even said ‘join’ without giggling and turning red? My little lass is growing up.” 

“You’re the only one who sees it. Even Skywise still calls me ‘cub’ now and then.” 

“You’ll thump him a few more times and he’ll remember.” 

A sending star touched them both, interrupting their quiet evening. Chieftess Joyleaf was calling a tribal council. 

* * * 

Grayling waited at the Holt restlessly. He wished he could have gone on the hunting party with Swift and Joyleaf. 

The elusive darkness was encroaching upon the forest. None of the elves could deny it. 

“We must learn what this is,” Joyleaf had told them all. “We will form a hunting party and scour the limits of our territory. There is something that threatens us... perhaps in a way that the humans cannot. And who knows... perhaps this time the humans are united with us – however unknowingly – in a desire to live free of this danger.” 

They had left when the moons were high. Still they had not returned. 

Moonshade sat on a knoll of Father Tree, nursing little Dart. Rainsong stretched out against an old log, letting her lifemate Woodlock massage her swollen ankles. Dewshine and Scouter chased each other through the trees, their laughing drifting down from the branches overhead. Soon their play would be turning to that of lovemates, Grayling decided. 

**Swift?** Grayling called idly. No answer. She must be beyond sending range. 

“You’re too tense, fisher,” Pike teased. 

“She’s a little young to be going on a hunt... especially when they hunt such... dangerous quarry.” 

“Do we know it’s dangerous? And besides, Swift’s no cub.” Pike chuckled. “Oh... I could tell you stories.” 

“Don’t, please. I don’t enjoy sharing that much.” 

“And what makes you think I meant that?” Pike nudged him in the ribs. “You have joining on the brain, my friend.” 

“I think you’re too willing to see your faults in others, Pike. You–” 

And then Grayling felt the sending scream again. Instantly he was transported back in time thirty years, to the morning when Crescent cried out for help. 

“Swift!” he cried. “Oh, High Ones!” 

* * * 

He wasn’t the only one who heard the scream. The entire tribe felt the pain of their loved ones. 

All too swiftly the cries stopped. The Wolfriders staggered about the Holt madly, trying to decide what to do. 

“We must go find them!” Shale cried. 

**We must defend the Holt!** Strongbow insisted. 

“You only say that because your kin did not ride with the chieftess!” Clearbrook said. “My lifemate is out there, perhaps dying!” 

“The elders are all gone,” Dewshine said. “Who do we look to? Strongbow?” 

“Grayling!” Pike turned to him. “You’re Blood of Chiefs. You’re the heir after Swift. What do you say?” 

Grayling shuddered. He looked up at Strongbow, expecting a challenge. But Strongbow was looking to him too. It seemed his ever-ambitious brother had no heart to lead now that the crisis had arrived. 

“We... we wait,” Grayling said at length. “Were they dead, the lifemates and parents would have felt something. We will give them until... until the morning. Then we will ride in search of them.” 

They did not have to wait until dawn. Within an hour of the mind scream they heard a distant howl. It was not their tribemates’ voices, but those of friendly wolves. But the message was clear to any Wolfrider. “We live.” 

“It is them,” Grayling said. “They’ve called to the nearest wolves, who have passed the message on to us.” 

And sure enough, the hunting party limped back into camp in the early pre-dawn light. 

But they were not all there. The hunters’ numbers had been nearly halved. 

Where was Longbranch? Where were the sisters Foxfur and Brownberry? 

Where was Joyleaf? 

“Rain!” Moonsbreath cried as she rushed across the clearing to embrace her lifemate. Clearbrook ran to One-Eye, tears in her eyes. Nightfall searched the faces for her parents, and when she found only mournful stares, she screamed. 

Grayling ran to his sister. He flung his arms about her and hugged her tightly, and she returned the embrace as strongly as her weakened limbs could manage. 

**Oh, High Ones... brother,** she wept. **To hold you again...** 

**Swift... is Joyleaf?** 

Swift’s head dropped to his shoulder as she sobbed. Grayling needed no further answer. 

Swift’s mother – the one who had been more mother to him than Trueflight – was gone. 

**How?** 

**Monster... creature of such... horrors... Grenn... his name... his name! Oh High Ones, it’s him! He’s come back for me!** 

Her sending was disjointed. He could make little sense of him. Her sobs convulsed through her body, and her legs gave out beneath her. Grayling held her tight against his chest. 

At length he asked. **Did she die alone?** 

**No...** Swift seemed to recover herself. **I was there. I was holding her... I felt... felt the life leave her.** 

Grayling swallowed hard. **Then it was a good death.** 

* * * 

At length Swift found the courage to continue the tale aloud for all to hear. 

“It’s called Madcoil...” Swift concluded. “And it has elfin magic in it. It knew my soulname,” she admitted. “It knew Mother’s.” 

Grayling moved behind her, a little leather thong in his hands. When he reached for her hair, Swift flinched. “No...” she whispered. Her eyes met his imploringly. “Not yet.” **Please, brother.** 

“You are our chief now,” Grayling said simply. Swift closed her eyes and let the tears flow down her cheeks as her half-brother gathered up a lock of blond hair and tied it at the crown of her head. 

**You are our chief,** Grayling repeated. His sending gave her strength. 

Swift drew in a shaky breath. “Madcoil can be killed! Joyleaf wounded it before she died. I promised I would finish what she began, but we must work as one to destroy it. All of us. Will you help me?” 

They all nodded gravely. 

**We’re with you,** Grayling took her hand in his. **What must we do, chieftess?** 

Swift swallowed hard, but Grayling could see a plan already forming in her eyes. Already she was pushing the sorrow aside, forcing herself to rise above the pain. 

Oh, sister, you’re a far better chief than I’d be, he thought. 

* * * 

Madcoil was dead. Swift had killed it, with the help of the tribe. The rotting head was dragged to the human encampment, and left with a gift from the elves. Perhaps the humans would understand. Perhaps not. It did not matter now. 

Swift told Grayling the secret of Madcoil’s birth, but they did not share it with the rest of the tribe. There was no need to cause further pain. 

“It’s not your fault,” Grayling whispered to her. 

“He’s a part of me. Just as he was a part of that... thing.” 

“Shh. His madness is no part of either of us. And he’s gone now.” 

“Not before taking her... one final cruelty.” 

“Bearclaw would have taken his own life long ago had he known what creature he would spawn. Not even in his deepest madness would he ever seek to hurt you, or Joyleaf.” 

The howl for the dead lasted all night as each fallen tribe member was remembered in song and story. Foxfur, Brownberry, Longbranch... Joyleaf. They howled the longest for Joyleaf. Even long-outspoken Strongbow wept as he sent his fondest memories of his former chieftess. 

Swift rubbed at her chief’s lock many times through the howl. She looked to her tribemates with fearful gazes. But her strength never failed her once, even though it was clear she was exhausted. 

Come morning – the second morning since Joyleaf’s death, Grayling retired to his little den. Swift was still up conferring with Strongbow and One-Eye, and once again Grayling was thankful that he did not have to bear the burden of the chief’s lock. 

He was just beginning to drift off asleep when he heard a little cough and clearing of the throat in the doorway of his den. He looked up from his furs. Swift hovered at the door, her fur blanket in her arms. 

“Grayling?” her voice was close to breaking. “My den is so empty now. Can I tree with you... at least for a little while?” 

“Of course. For as long you wish.” 

Swift crawled into the den with a grateful smile and snuggled up against his fur-wrapped body. Grayling wrapped his arm about her shoulders. 

“Why am I going to do, Grayling?” she begged. “I know nothing about being chief. Someone else should lead. Someone older, more experienced. Strongbow... or Rain... or you, Grayling! You’re the elder Blood of Chiefs. The tribe will follow you!” 

“I am the son of Bearclaw, yes, but you’re the daughter of Bearclaw and Joyleaf. That birthright cannot be denied.” 

“I would deny it. I know nothing, Grayling! I’m young... untried!” 

“A leader is always untried at the beginning. And you weren’t too young to find a way to get rid of Madcoil.” 

Tears welled in her eyes again. “I miss Mother. I feel so... alone. I can’t do this alone, Grayling.” 

He kissed the crown of her head, as he had when she was still a cub. “You don’t have to. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

She hugged him tightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“I’m right here, little sister,” he repeated softly. “I’ll always be right here.”


	3. Chief of Many

“One falls loses all!” Sun-Toucher announced as Rayek and Swift mounted the twin poles balanced on the grooved cylinder. Rayek wore his headband down over his eyes, Swift a piece of linen wrapped about hers. 

“Ayooah, Swift!” Scouter called. 

“Clobber ‘em, Swift!” Skywise shouted. 

“She really shouldn’t be doing this,” Moonshade fretted. “She’s with cub, for Tanner’s sake!” 

Grayling watched spellbound as his chief-sister found her balance on the two poles. The Trail of Hand was an old test of balance and strength the Sun Folk had practiced for years. When Rayek had made the mistake of mentioning the test to his new lifemate, Swift immediately announced her intention to try it. 

“Under no circumstances!” Rayek had shouted. “You’re carrying my child! It’s... it’s less than a month since we Recognized!” 

“All the more reason to try it now. Before you know I’ll be too fat to hunt, let alone test my balance.” 

“I forbid it!” 

“You? Forbid?” Swift had laughed in his face. “Well, if you’re too afraid to face me on the poles...” 

Grayling chuckled to think how easily she had manipulated her lifemate. Barely over a month since the Wolfriders arrived at Sorrow’s End, and Swift and Rayek had yet to come to a real accord. But there was real love in their eyes, and Grayling had no doubt they would eventually learn to like each other as well. 

“Ayooah!” Pike called, and Grayling’s thoughts returned to the present. Treestump cupped his hands to him mouth and shouted, “Good luck, black-hair!” 

“Huh?” Pike turned. “You’re on Rayek’s side?” 

“Nope, just sympathetic,” Treestump said. “Swift’ll beat the living bear fat out of ‘im.” 

The poles began to tilt in the hands of the two Sun Folk working the contraption. “Give up, lifemate!” Rayek shouted as the two clasped hands and struggled for balance. No one can best me at this game! Save yourself, and your pride!” 

“Hah!” Swift laughed. “This is easier than walking a tree-branch in a light breeze – whoops!” she yelped as Rayek yanked her forward. 

“You were saying?” 

Swift’s free arm pinwheeled to keep her balance. With a grunt she leaned back, and yanked Rayek towards her, upsetting his own center of gravity. “Bead rattler!” she laughed. 

“Bone polisher!” Rayek leaned back in turn to regain his own balance. 

“Snake!” Swift shoulder-checked him. 

“She-dog!” Rayek grunted, shoving back against her. Their strengths were well-matched, Rayek’s taut muscles against Swift’s sinuous frame. Exertion showed in their faces as they bobbled on the poles together, each trying to nudge the other off center. Their clasped hands shook. Suddenly a shift of the poles upset Rayek’s balance just enough for Swift to lean into his weakness and throw him from the center drum. 

“Ha hah!” Treestump leapt to his face. “What did I tell you?” 

“That’s our chief, sure as birds fly!” Skywise chuckled. “And Rayek’s chewing nettles, sure as snakes crawl." 

Rayek rolled over on his side, easing his headband back to his forehead. He glared at his lifemate as Swift untied the blindfold, a guilty smirk on her face. 

Whispers ran through the Sun Folk as they saw their only hunter defeated by a barbarian girl. The Wolfriders shook their fists high overhead, cheering for their chief. Suddenly Rayek sprang to his feet and charged Swift. Strongbow and Eyes High stiffened, fearing an attack. But Rayek caught Swift up in his arms, swinging her about. 

“Oh, lifemate!” he laughed loudly. “Only out of my love for you did I permit you to best me!” 

“Permit?!” Swift exclaimed. “You... you... pompous strutter-cock!” she slapped him about his shoulders until he released her, then hugged him tight. The Sun Folk whispered again in bewilderment to see brooding Rayek laughing with joy. Honour satisfied on both sides now, the two lifemates rejoiced the crowd, though the keen-eyed Wolfriders noticed that Rayek walked with a slight limp. 

The crowd slowly dispersed, for it was growing too hot. Grayling saw Rayek swing Swift up in his arms again, and Swift only giggled and let him tote her about as if she were a little cub. 

Hansha the metalworker fell into step alongside Grayling as the Wolfrider cast one final glance at his sister. “I haven’t seen Swift so happy since before her mother died,” Grayling whispered. 

“You’ve had much pain in your lives,” Hansha said softly. 

“Aye,” Grayling nodded. “And it seems the lot of our family to feel sorrow more sharply than others.” He smiled at his new lovemate. “Yet this place is well-named Sorrow’s End. Some of my kin fear the light and hide in the shade. But I... I feel like I’ve come home... to a home I never knew existed. All is warmth and safety... no humans... no trolls... none of the dangers of the forest.” 

“I’m glad you’re happy here,” Hansha touched his arm lightly. 

Grayling led Hansha down a little lane between two huts. “I am happy here, Hansha. Happier than I can ever remember being. The tribe is safe... my family is safe. My nephew can grow up without fear of human attacks. And my sister is Recognized. Soon we will have a new Wolfrider... a new Blood of Chiefs. And I...” 

Hansha looked up at him. “And you...?” 

“I... I don’t yet know all the ways of your tribe. With Wolfriders... we... share with any who ask... unless we are asked not to... by one who would rather not share.” 

Hansha smiled. “Are you asking me for permission to look elsewhere? Or would you rather I forbid you?” 

Grayling started. He had not expected such bluntness from the soft-spoken metalworker. A slight blush rose in his sunburned cheeks. “Forbid is not a word used much among my people. But... I think I would rather forbid... and be forbidden.” 

Hansha took a step closer. “Then I forbid you, Grayling,” he murmured softly. 

Grayling felt his throat go rather dry. The shy Sun Villager he thought he had so cautiously hunted since he arrived in Sorrow’s End had suddenly turned and pounced on him. 

“I...” Grayling began. 

Hansha kissed him soundly on the mouth. 

“Hm...” Grayling murmured when they parted. “I never had a lovemate all to myself before.” 

“And I’ve never had a lovemate quite like you...” Hansha breathed. 

Grayling leaned in for another kiss, but an audible giggle from a passing duo of Sun Folk maidens startled them back to the here-and-now. They both remembered they were standing in an open lane between huts, and they chuckled softly, equally embarrassed. 

“Maybe we should go inside,” Hansha said. “It’s high time for the afternoon rest.” 

“High time...” Grayling whispered in agreement as they turned down the lane for Hansha’s hut. 

* * * 

Two floods-and-flowers came to Sorrow’s End before Swift’s cubs were born – twins, an unheard-of occurrence. The wolfpack settled into the caves outside the village and a new generation of wolf pups grew up alongside the young cubs. Little Dart claimed his wolf-friend when he was eight, and Grayling knew it was only a matter of time before little Suntop and Venka found their own wolves. 

Another five turns of peace saw the babies grow into tough little cubs, as skilful in bounded from rock to rock as a Wolfrider was used to springing from branch to branch. Rainsong and Woodlock’s family became no different from any Sun Folk clan. Grayling seldom ventured into the hills to hunt, preferring to remain in the village at his lovemate’s hut. The blending of two tribes into one seemed inevitable, even as some of the elder Wolfriders fought the changes peace had brought. 

Then one night the past caught up with the Wolfriders. 

* * * 

Grayling stared down at the humans in horror. Four of them - battered and starving but still humans! – stood waiting for the death blows from the elves. One of the wolves now moved to hold the woman back as Woodlock took aim at the human child. 

Kill it, kill it... Grayling thought. No humans could be allowed to enter Sorrow’s End, to threaten the elf cubs – Swift’s cubs, Strongbow’s cub! Seven years they had lived in safety. And now... humans had come to destroy everything they had built. 

Kill them all. Every single one, from the little child to the old man. 

But Woodlock could not, and the arrow only nicked the boy’s hair. 

“What’s the use?” Woodlock sobbed as he slumped to the rocks. “I promised Rainsong that we’d never see humans again – that our cubs would grow up without fear.. but now...” 

“Dro!” the woman called out. Grayling looked up at the humans again. The older man had fallen off their zwoot-like beast. 

“He is dead, Thaya,” the other man said. “And soon we will join him.” 

Grayling looked at Swift. He waited for her to raise her bow – Joyleaf’s old bow – and finish the task she had begun. 

Why did she hesitate? Why did she grit her teeth and look away? 

He thought of little Venka and Suntop, and how easily they could be snapped in two by those starved humans. 

Swift contorted her face in a snarl. “GO!” she barked in the guttural human tongue. “Leave this place! Let the dead one lie there as a warning! If you or others like ever come here again, we’ll kill you on sight? Understand? Go quickly, before I think twice!” 

The humans needed no further urging. They took their riding beast and fled into the night. 

Grayling stared at Swift. How could she have allowed their escape? They would only find more humans and return... finish the work they had begun when they set fire to the Holt. 

Swift clenched her bow tight to restrain her own frustration. She knew she would be challenged for her choice. And neither she nor Grayling were surprised by who reacted first. 

**You... let... them GO?!** 

Swift turned to see Strongbow seething with rage, his eyes locked on hers in the stare of challenge. His sending star burning in Swift’s mind. **We had them helpless at our feet and you let them go! Bearclaw would have cut out their living hearts and fed them to the wolves.** 

It was the wrong thing to say. 

Swift backhanded Strongbow across the face. The strength in her wiry muscles she had demonstrated seven years ago in the Trial of Hand showed itself again, and she knocked the taller elf to the ground. 

**You dare defy me? You dare compare me to him? To HIM?** 

Strongbow got to his feet and sprang at her. They locked hands and stared each other down. Grayling felt the static charge in the air. Strongbow had challenged Joyleaf and lost once long before. But Swift was much younger and still unsure of herself. What if Strongbow overwhelmed her in the battle of sending? 

But in mere moments it was over, and Strongbow looked away in submission. 

“Listen, Strongbow,” Swift said. “I know you want revenge on the humans, I do too. But no good can come of it. There are too many of them, scattered everywhere! You heard them. Do you want to spend the rest of your life perched on this rock, just waiting to pick off anyone who comes in sight? They will come, you know. There were only the first we’ve seen.” 

Grayling felt his heart sink. 

Woodlock spoke next, but he spoke the thoughts of all assembled Wolfriders. “Then there’s no place we call our own... not even Sorrow’s End.” 

The Wolfriders parted ways and returned to the village in defeat. Grayling followed on the walk back to her hut. 

“You’re a better leader than I would be, little sister. I would have killed those humans and enjoyed it. Fear would have made me a killer, as cruel as any human. And my heart would have paid the price later. It couldn’t have been easy... to stand against Strongbow.” 

Swift shrugged it off. “It’s done now.” 

“What will we do?” 

“I don’t know. I have to talk to Savah. She’s the Mother of Memory. She must know something about the High Ones. What the human said... that we don’t belong here... that we come from somewhere else... maybe Savah knows. The High Ones can’t all be dead. And what if there are other children of the High Ones... scattered tribes of elves like the Wolfriders and the Sun Folk, who even now live in the belief that they are alone? Can you imagine it, Grayling? What if there are other elves out there, waiting to be found? It seems to me... if we have to fight the humans for our place in this world, we’d stand a much better chance if we are united. And I mean to fight the humans, Grayling, if they will not live in peace with us. This is our world too, and I won’t let a bunch of five-fingers tell us otherwise.” 

“From fear to a dream, in one night,” Grayling said admiringly. “You are a true chief, Swift.” 

“Ah... it may prove to be a foolish dream. For all I know, we eight-eights of elves may be all that remains of the High Ones.” 

“Don’t give up, Swift. We have to believe there is a place, somewhere in this world, where we can live free of humans... free of fear.” 

They returned to the hut, and Suntop and Venka rushed out to meet them. “Mother! Grayling!” Venka cried. “What happened? Are the... the ‘hoomans’ gone?” 

“Yes,” Swift said. “All is well again.” 

Rayek appeared in the doorway. By the anxious light in his eyes and the way Swift rushed to embrace him, Grayling knew a locksending had passed between them. What the lifemates would decide to do, Grayling could only imagine. 

He took the back lane to his and Hansha’s hut. The metalworker was fast asleep in their pit bed. Grayling smiled softly. “Lazybones,” he murmured softly as he shed his clothes and climbed into bed next to him. Hansha mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled against his lovemate. Grayling stroked Hansha’s black hair as he lay awake, wondering how life in Sorrow’s End would ever be the same again. 

* * * 

It was not long before Swift made up her mind. 

“One turn of the seasons – what the Sun Folk call a year – that’s all I’ll give myself. Then Rayek and I will be back to tell you what we’ve found... and didn’t find.” 

The Wolfriders protested. It wasn’t the Way to let the chief go and face danger alone. Many of the elders longed to leave the desert and find a new forest and a new Holt. But Swift’s calm words persuaded them to hold their ground until her return. Within another night’s time Swift and Rayek were ready to depart. The tribe shared goodbyes, and Rayek was somewhat surprised to hear his lifemate’s tribe wish him well. Then another, more intimate farewell took place at the village’s edge. 

Nightrunner paced sulkily, growling under his breath at the two zwoots Swift and Rayek would ride. Swift and Rayek were dressed for their travels in new leathers made by Moonshade. A few provisions hung from the zwoots’ saddles. 

“You’ll never be farther from us that these two,” Skywise said, patting Suntop’s head. 

“We’ll take good care of them,” Grayling said. 

“My beautiful cubs,” Swift knelt down and took their hands. “Do you understand why your father and I must go?” 

“Yes, Mother,” Venka said solemnly. “To find other elves like us.” 

“Oh, there are none like you,” Rayek murmured proudly. He ruffled Suntop’s hair, then framed his face in his hands. “Dear Suntop, Savah says that you have gifts worthy of her training. That is a great honour. We magic-users must protect the Sun Folk as surely as the Wolfrider hunters so. It is your duty to study hard... for lives may one day depend on you.” 

“I will, Father,” Suntop said bravely. “I won’t let you down, I promise” 

“I know you won’t, little one,” he hugged his son tight. 

“Learn all you can about archery from Strongbow and Nightfall,” Swift said to Venka. “And heed your uncle Grayling in the uses of the spear, and the ways of taming one’s heart. He’s the best friend and teacher a young chieftess could want, as I can attest. And both of you heed your Uncle Skywise. He’ll report any tricks you play while we’re gone.” 

Skywise waggled his eyebrows at the cubs, and they giggled. 

Swift hugged them both tightly. “I wonder how you’ll both grow while I’m gone...” 

“Go now, sister,” Grayling said gently. “Night has fallen. You’re losing precious traveling time.” 

Swift hugged her brother tightly, then turned to embrace Skywise. He pummelled her on the back soundly. “Go find us elves, rockskull. And you take care of her, Rayek. We all know she can’t find her way around a tree without getting lost.” He slipped the lodestone over her neck. “To find your way. And for luck.” 

A final round of hugs, and the two travellers mounted their zwoots. They rode off into the night without a backward glance. Grayling knew well that they didn’t dare look back at the faces of their cubs. 

The Wolfriders howled in the hills, a plaintive farewell. Grayling, Skywise and the cubs joined the song. 

* * * 

Four months passed since Swift’s departure when Savah fell into her deep sleep. Only Suntop was able to reach her in the darkness, and then only barely. Savah’s trapped mind gave a message. A warning for Swift. 

“Mother...” Suntop wept. “I have to see Mother. Skywise, please take me to Mother. Please! I’ve got to tell her what Savah sees – I mean feels! I’ve got to warn her.” 

“Can’t you tell us?” Skywise asked. 

“No! Only Mother. It’s all my head and it won’t come out ‘til I’m with her.” 

“But... we don’t know where she and Father are,” Venka protested. 

“Savah knows where she will be! And it’s not good. Oh, it’s not good at all. But we still have time to get there. I can show you the way. Oh, Skywise, please.” 

The Wolfriders were leaving Sorrow’s End. Within days of Suntop’s frantic urging Moonshade and Moonsbreath had hauled out the half-finished winter leathers she had been working on and added sleeves and cloaks. No one asked her how the tanners had known that one day soon the Wolfriders would be heading into cold climates. Everyone was too delighted to be heading for green growing places again. 

“This was a long time in coming,” Moonsbreath said as she donned her long skirt, slit up the side to reveal deerskin leggings. 

**Look at those brown-skinned ravvits,** Strongbow hissed as he regarded the frantic Sun Folk. **Yap yap yap, always talking. No one ever does anything around here.** 

“Have a little pity, Strongbow,” Treestump said. “With Savah beyond their reach and we hunters leaving them, the Sun Folk have a reason to be stirred up.” 

Grayling leaned against the outside of the sandstone cave, his eyes on the Sun Folk milling outside Savah’s hut. Sun-Toucher was trying to calm his people, telling of Suntop’s urgent need to find his mother and give her Savah’s warning. 

Grayling held a pair of red leather trousers and a leather jacket in his arms. While the rest of the tribe was changing into their travelling clothes, he remained in the cool cottons he had grown accustomed to wearing the last seven years. It was as if he had not yet committed himself to the journey. 

“Lovemate?” Hansha drew up alongside him. Under the shadow cast by his hood, his green eyes seemed to glow. 

“I can’t just leave here,” Grayling whispered, for he had no wish to be overheard. But like many Sun Folk, Hansha had never learned to send, and now was not the time to try another half-successful lesson. 

“Sorrow’s End is my home – more my home than Father Tree ever was. I belong here... with you. But... I have to help my sister when she’s in need. And I promised to look after her cubs.” 

“You have to do what you have to do,” Hansha said. “And... part of me has always been prepared for the idea of your leaving.” 

“You’re being too understanding,” Grayling touched his cheek. “It worries me.” 

“I know you’ll be back.” Then his calm demeanour failed him. “You will be back, won’t you?” 

Grayling cupped Hansha’s face in his hands. “Of course I will. I couldn’t imagine leaving you forever.” 

“Grayling...” Hansha leaned into the tender embrace. “You mean so much to me...” 

**Are you ready, Grayling?** Strongbow’s sending interrupted their farewell. 

**Give me a moment!** Grayling shot back angrily. 

**It’s time to be off. We leave before sunset – your nephew won’t let us wait any longer! Don’t delay the entire tribe because you couldn’t say goodbye to your–** 

**To my what?** Grayling cut him off before Strongbow could slip another jab at Hansha into the conversation. His brother was a practiced hand at dropping insults about the “ravvits” of Sorrow’s End. 

“Come with me!” Grayling whispered suddenly to his lovemate. But when Hansha drew back, his eyes filled with terror, Grayling knew he could not ask that. “No... no, lovemate, I shouldn’t have asked,” he added quickly. “Your place is here.” 

“Just come back to me,” Hansha embraced him tightly. “I can wait.” 

The Wolfriders slowly walked across the width of the village, bound for the zwoot saddled by Woodlock and Rainsong, and the waiting wolfpack. The Sun Folk made it a long, painful walk. 

“No!” one farmer called out. “Please, do not leave us!” 

Grayling winced at the pleading tone. 

“We haven’t the right to hinder them, Shushen.” Hansha said, fighting the catch in his voice as he continued to hold Grayling hand tight. 

“Yes,” Leetah the Healer said coolly. “If they choose to abandon the safety of the village, it is their right.” 

“Please!” Shushen begged. “What if those human creatures come again? What if mountain lions descend to attack us? Rayek used to guard the village before the Wolfriders took his place. Who will protect us now?” 

“Well, Woodlock and Rainsong are staying here with their cubs,” Skywise offered as cheerfully as he could. But he knew the Sun Folk had already figured out that Woodlock was no great hunter. 

**This isn’t right...** Grayling sent openly to the Wolfriders. **We’ve made them dependent on us the last seven turns. We can’t just... leave them.** 

**They’re no concern of ours,** Strongbow dismissed. 

**Our duty lies first with our chief,** Treestump agreed. 

“Without you we will be defenseless!” Shushen exclaimed. 

The Wolfriders calmly stepped around them as they continued their march for the outskirts of the village. 

Hansha slowly disengaged his hand from Grayling’s, anticipating the departure to come. 

And suddenly Grayling understood where his duty lay. 

“No, you won’t!” he turned to Shushen. “Because I’m going to stay here and teach you to fight for yourselves!” 

**What?** Strongbow rounded on him. 

“So will I!” little Dart announced. 

“Dart!” Moonshade gasped. 

The thirteen-year-old turned to his scowling father. “Father... I want to do this – I have to. I grew up here in Sorrow’s End. Grayling and I can teach the Sun Folk to hunt and to fight.” 

“You?” someone laughed. “A spindly half-grown youth will teach us–” 

Now Strongbow’s rage transcended sending. “That ‘spindly youth’ is my son!” he exclaimed in a rasping growl. “And Grayling is my brother! And our chief’s brother! And they’re both worth the lot of you put together! They’ll teach you how to be your own protectors – but it’s your own hides if you’re too fancy to learn!” 

Dart grinned ear-to-ear. “Mother! Father! Thank you! I was sure you’d disapprove.” 

**I do!** Strongbow. **Of both of you. You’re wasting your time on these shivering fawns. But it’s your decision. Just remember, you’re Wolfriders! Don’t even forget where you came from.** 

Dart rushed to his parents for a tender farewell, while Grayling bent down to embrace his niece and nephew. “I’m sorry I can’t come with you. Tell your mother I’ll howl for her. Tell her I would join her in a moment...” 

“But you have family here now too,” Venka said calmly. “Hansha.” 

Grayling blushed a little, unnerved how easily a cub could read him. “Yes. But more... I have a duty to the Sun Folk. They’ve given me a home... peace... they–” he smiled even as tears welled in his eyes. “They gave me you. And you and your mother mean everything to me. Find her in time, cublings. Give her Savah’s message. And tell her that her brother is watching over Sorrow’s End.” 

He hugged him goodbye, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He turned to Skywise. “Um... here.” He handed over his new leathers. “Moonshade should put these to good use.” 

“Uh-huh,” Skywise looked them over. “Maybe Rayek can use these, when we catch up with him. He’s about your height, after all.” 

“It’s all on your shoulders, now, stargazer. And your head if anything goes wrong.” 

“Coward,” Skywise said affectionately as he hugged Grayling farewell. “They’re too much for any one elf to handle and you know it.” 

**Make Swift understand, please,** Grayling said. 

**I won’t have to. She will. I don’t think she’ll be surprised at all.** 

Grayling and Hansha watched as the Wolfriders left the village, Suntop and Venka sitting proudly atop the pack-zwoot’s saddle. “Are you sure?” Hansha asked. “There’s still time join them.” 

Grayling clasped his hand tight again. “I’m sure. I’m here to stay, green-eyes.” 

Hansha smiled. “I’m glad.” 

* * * 

Savah’s condition did not improve even as a full turn of Mother Moon signalled a month since the Wolfriders’ departure. But Dart and Grayling were having great progress teaching the first volunteers of the Sorrow’s End hunters. Dart had made several copies of his arrow-whip, the training tool all Wolfrider cubs learned on before moving to longbows. 

But one problem remained. Grayling could teach them the uses of the spear, but not of the arrow. 

He covered up for his weakness well, and had Dart lead the archery lessons. So far only three males had volunteered – a farmer named Tanah, a loom-worker named Dahn and a boy named Halek, only a few years older than Dart – and none of them suspected that their “teacher” could not shot a bow to save his life. 

But Hansha had noticed, for he came to watch every training session. “Why can’t you use a bow?” he asked one night as they lay in bed together. “If I may ask.” 

“You can ask me anything, my Hansha-of-the-Green-Eyes,” Grayling murmured sleepily, kissing the top of his head. He rolled away and held out his left arm. “It’s this arm. There’s a weakness in it – been there since birth. I can never seem to steady it long enough to line up a shot. When I hold a bow, it rattles in my hand. Same with the arrow-whips.” 

“But you come from a family of archers. That must have been hard.” 

“Very. I tried so hard to make my mother and my brother proud. I know they were always disappointed. Strongbow’s cubs, first dear Crescent, and now Dart – they have the blood of archers in them. Dart especially.” 

“Dart misses sometimes,” Hansha offered as consolation. “And he puts on too much airs for the height of his head, if you ask me.” 

Grayling chuckled softly. “I can throw a spear well enough, but I’m better with short jabs. I was the best fisher we had at the old Holt. But jabs are no good out here in the desert... not unless you have several wolves to bring a quarry down first.” 

“Pity you can’t make a bow to fire with one hand,” Hansha said, snuggling up against his lovemate. “I’d love to see my wolf teach that ‘spindly youth’ a thing or two.” 

“A one-handed bow...” Grayling mused. “I seem to remember my mother used to speak of something like that in the old days... something the Wolfriders used... long, long ago... before Father Tree. She always knew so much about weapons... all the weapons an elf needed. In Freefoot’s time... a spear-thrower....” He shrugged. It was too late to try to remember more. “Ah well. Goodnight...” he yawned. 

**Goodnight... lifemate...** 

Grayling opened his eyes anew. “Did you just send to me?” 

Hansha hesitated too long. “No. Why... did you hear something?” 

“Must have been my imagination,” Grayling mumbled. He nestled back against Hansha, his lips against his ear. 

“Lifemate,” he whispered. 

* * * 

In time hope returned to Sorrow’s End. Savah awoke late one afternoon. She was weakened by a month without food, and it was many days before she found the strength to leave her bed and emerge into the sun once more. But the Sun Village was alive with laughter again, and the would-be hunters threw themselves into their lessons with joyful abandon. Now a maiden, Dodia, joined them, along with Shushen, the same youth whose fearful begging had led Grayling to his choice. 

Grayling had not forgotten what Hansha had said about a one-handed bow, and he spent days studying the arrow-whip, wondering how to adapt the general idea to a one-handed dart-launcher, wondering how the old Wolfriders had made the mythical “spear-throwers.” 

If the whip was not a supple leather thong, but a rigid wooden shaft... 

If a notch could be made to prop a wooden dart... 

If the right amount of weight at the end could create momentum... 

Wood was rare in the Sun Village, but Redlance’s shaped trees provided enough for several attempts. Grayling practiced with many lengths of wood late at night when no one would see. But somehow little Rainsong and Wing found out about his attempts and came to watch. 

It took another two months to find the right proportions. One afternoon he came to archery practice and shooed the Sun Folk to the sidelines. He fitted a handmade wooden dart – longer than the ones Dart himself used – and took aim at the distant cactus-tree. Raising the launcher like a spear, he took aim. 

A downward crack of the arm, and the dart flew for the tree. It missed, but continued to fly, until it finally hit the ground a good forty paces beyond. 

The Sun Folk gasped. So did Dart. 

“Aim was off,” Grayling muttered. 

“So what?” Dart exclaimed. “Aim can be fixed. But power – how did you get that power out of it. I always thought you needed a longbow to reach that distance!” 

“What is it?” Shushen asked. 

“It’s... it’s a dart-thrower,” Grayling stammered at length. “The Wolfriders once used it long ago.” He looked up and saw Savah standing in the doorway of her hut. 

“I know that weapon,” she breathed. “I remember... the hunters of my youth... when we first came to Sorrow’s End... used one very much like it. Why... even I used it to bring down bristle-boars.” 

“You, Savah?” her ever-present handmaiden gasped. 

“I was not always Mother of Memory, dear Ahdri.” 

Grayling walked up to her and handed her the weapon. Savah turned it over in her hands. “Yes... you built it a little differently, but the basic form is the same. The Rootless Ones called it an atlatl.” 

“Atlatl?” 

“A strange word, I know. Perhaps from the old language of the High Ones... or perhaps from the human tongue.” She handed the weapon back to him. “A fine weapon, Grayling. May you teach our kind to wield it as well as you do.” 

Grayling smiled, weighing the launcher in his hands. 

* * * 

“Grayling! Grayling, you have to come see this!” Dart exclaimed, leading Grayling up the rocks to the wolf dens outside the village. 

Grayling’s Darkburr was pregnant, and from the scents around the den, Grayling imagined she had just now given birth. Strange for Dart to be so excited over simple wolf pups, but then again he remembered that the boy was still young. 

He had to admit he was curious about his wolf’s pregnancy. Rainsong’s Silvergrace had only dropped her litter six months previously, and five little pups padded about the caves happily. Only the chieftess wolf ever mated – had Darkburr overthrown Silvergrace? And who was Darkburr’s mate? Starjumper had left with the rest of the wolfpack and now there was no chief wolf – only Woodlock’s Tailchaser, Dart’s gangly Loper, and Silvergrace and her cubs. 

Grayling followed Dart through the narrow little tunnel into the birthing den. Darkburr was nursing a litter of six little pups, all a soft dun colour, none gray like their mother. Dart held one up for Grayling to inspect. “Look at them, Grayling!” 

At first he saw nothing but a wolf cub, eyes closed, ears turned down, tiny body covered in a soft damp fur. But then he looked more closely in the darkness. The head seemed a little too large for the body... and the legs seemed a little too long for a newborn. 

**They’re all like this,** Dart sent. **Have you ever seen a wolf pup like this** 

**No... never. ** He gently laid the baby back down at his mother’s teat. **Come on, let’s leave them be.** 

They climbed back out into the moonlight. “Who’s the father?” Dart asked. “That colouring... looks a little like my Loper, but Loper’s too young to catch Darkburr’s eye. Did Hotburr or... Redcoat–” 

“No. The wolfpack left too long ago. Not unless Darkburr decided to carry a litter for three and a half months.” 

Dart looked back at the three wolves who guarded the den – not Tailchaser, nor Loper, and certainly not one of Silvergrace’s cubs. 

They heard a strange sound – like a howl, but not... a yip-yowling wail coming over the rocks. 

“Jackals,” Dart hissed. 

But the wolves did not seem anxious. In fact they raised their tails high and yipped back in friendship. A few moments later Dart and Grayling had their answer, as a large brown jackal, flanked by two smaller comrades, joined the wolves. 

Two months later Darkburr’s six cubs played with Silvergrace’s five outside the wolf dens. Already they were developing the distinctive spots along their hindquarters. They had the long legs of jackals. But their heads were those of wolves. 

“Jackwolves,” Dart murmured. “And the pack accepts them just as it accepts the jackals. I didn’t think it was possible.” 

Grayling picked up one pup who had begun to nibble at his sandal. 

“What do we do with them?” Dart asked. 

Grayling laughed. “We ride them!” 

* * * 

Three years passed, and the eleven pups grew to adulthood. Silvergrace’s pups grew lanky and without heavy coats, and save for the spots it was hard to tell wolf from jackwolf. Darkburr and the chief jackal Speckleback had produced two more litters, and while the desert had claimed several of their young, five new jackwolf pups were thriving in the new pack. 

The jackals could not be ridden, for Speckleback and his two kinmates did not trust the elves. But the crossbreeds, while incapable of showing the imprint-bonding between elf and wolf, were easily trained for riding. 

The Wolfriders never returned to Sorrow’s End, but Savah’s frequent communions with Suntop reassured Grayling that all was well with his tribe, now living far to the north in the Palace of the High Ones. 

Three years since the Wolfrider hunters left Sorrow’s End, and a new tribe of hunters had taken their place: the Jackwolf Riders, now at twelve strong. 

“What would Strongbow think of his brother and boy-cub now?” Woodlock chuckled as he watched the riders perform a race for the cheering Sun Folk. 

“You have turned meek gardeners into Wolfriders,” Savah commended them. “We are all most impressed.” 

“I too,” fifteen-year-old Newstar gave Dart a little pinch to his backside. “I’m almost impressed. He could stand a bath, though.” 

“We’ve cubs in need of riders, if you’d like to join us, Newstar,” Grayling said. 

But Rainsong’s eldest was a Sun Folk through-and-through now, and she only laughed lightly. “I think not. The wolves lost my scent long ago.” 

Newstar abandoned her teasing of Dart soon enough. Recognition struck the Sun Village again, and the barely-grown cub was with child herself. The joy that filled Sorrow’s End was short-lived, however, as a new communion with Suntop left Savah chilled to the core. “Once again the loveless one threatens the Wolfriders... and I fear her sickness will bring grief to many. Swift leads the Wolfriders against her now, hoping to cure her once and for all.” 

Grayling wished there was something he could do for his kin. But he could only wait, and continue the training of the Jackwolf Riders. 

“The Wolfriders will be all right,” Rainsong said. “With your sister leading them I’ve no doubt of their safety.” 

* * * 

Grayling usually awoke early each morning to make his rounds of the village and check in on the wolfpack. It was a habit he had developed during the uncertain time when Speckleback and the other two jackals first joined the wolfpack – when he was convinced one morning he would find signs of a massacre among the rocks. But this morning he was slow to rise from the pit-bed. Dark dreams had plagued him of late. 

Strange, it seemed far too bright outside. Had he overslept? 

He heard shouts outside his hut. “Someone get Savah and Sun-Toucher!” “Great Sun, can it be?” “It is! It must be!” “Hurry!” “Oh, High Ones! It is!” 

“Mmphh...” Hansha rolled over on his back. “What are they squealing about out there?” 

Grayling staggered to the window and stuck his head out. A blinding silver light overwhelmed him at first. It took several frantic heartbeats before he could make out the spires and turrets against the early morning sky. 

“Hansha, come here!” he gasped. 

He tugged on his panelled loincloth and raced for the door, forgetting his sandals. He was late; most of the Sun Folk were already out on the sandy plain, gaping at the giant crystal structure that had appeared on the outskirts of the village. 

“Rayek!” someone cried. 

“It is Rayek! He’s come back!” 

Swift now came out to stand by him, and Rayek slipped his arm about her protectively. “You should not cheer for me alone.” 

Swift... now clad in red-and-brown leathers, wearing hawk feathers in her long hair. The three years since he last saw had left a certain sadness in her eyes. 

And now Venka and Suntop joined their parents. How they had grown! 

Skywise strode out of the Palace with a white wolf in tow. Swift flanked the wolf, and they escorted it over to Savah as if with great reverence. 

“She is Timmain, the High One, with us again,” Swift explained. 

Timmain... the founder of the Wolfriders... 

But Grayling hardly noticed her. He only saw his family. 

Swift sensed his gaze on her. She turned and a smile lit up her solemn expression. She broke from her lifemate and dashed across the sand. The force of her embrace almost knocked Grayling off his feet. 

“Brother,” Swift whispered. “Oh... so much has happened...” 

She smelled different: her distinctive scent... faded somewhat. 

He held her tight. “I’ve missed you so much – you and the cubs.” 

“Chieftess!” Newstar’s voice rang out. Swift stepped back from her brother a moment before the giddy teenager tackled her. “Chieftess! Remember me?” 

“Newstar,” Swift laughed. “How could you have grown so in just three years?” 

Grayling modestly stepped back as other old friends and kin rushed forward to greet Swift. She caught his eyes as she was nearly swept away by well-wishers. 

**We’ll talk more later... just us,** Grayling sent. 

Swift smiled even as Newstar and Teru threatened to drag her off. 

* * * 

The Palace was not staying. They would leave the next morning. In the rocks by the wolf dens, Swift told Grayling everything – Winnowill, the war for the Palace, the three years of peace followed by a new threat from Blue Mountain... her capture... her torture... 

“I should have been there,” Grayling murmured when Swift finished her tale. “The tribe needed me.” 

“So did the Sun Folk. And you’ve cared for them well. A whole new tribe of Wolfriders...” Swift shook her head. “Rayek still can’t believe it. Neither can Strongbow.” 

“I know,” Grayling chuckled. “He actually clapped me on the shoulder earlier. ‘Ravvits to Wolfriders! You have some magic in you, little brother.’” 

“I wish we could stay longer... watch a demonstration of your new hunters.” 

“But you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

“We have to find the source of the cry in Suntop’s head, the sooner the better.” 

“And then? Will you come back to Sorrow’s End?” 

Swift shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not to stay. The others... they’re weary of sand. They’re weary of snow too. They want a new forest... a new Holt. Perhaps... once we find the source of this cry... and we help the elves in distress... we’ll find a forest home... a new Father Tree.” 

“I can’t leave Sorrow’s End.” 

“I know.” Swift got to her feet. She smiled bittersweetly. “I’d love to steal you away with me... I have missed my brother these last three years. But you are a chief of many now, Grayling. And they always come first.” 

“Chief...” Grayling shook his head ruefully. “How many years did I spend insisting I never wanted to lead – not the hunters, not the tribe?” 

“And now you are Chief of the Jackwolf Riders.” Swift cocked her head to one side. “But you do not yet look the part.” 

Grayling didn’t understand what she intended to do until she plucked one of the feathers from her hair and teased it free of its little leather thong. “No... I – it’s not right,” Grayling began. But before he could say more, Swift calmly caught up a hank of his hair and tied the thong at the crown of his head. 

“Two chiefs, two chief’s locks,” she said softly, stepping back to regard him. “And tied in much happier circumstance than the last one.” 

“Then why do you look so sad?” 

“Not sad... just... remembering... what was... what’s happened since.” Her smile brightened. “Thinking what ol’ Bearclaw would say... if he could see us now.” 

“Nothing good, I’m certain.” 

Swift grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. Even he would have to think this is just how it should have turned out.” 

* * * 

Timmain the wolf – for Grayling still could not imagine her as a High One – chose several of the Sun Village to join the Wolfriders on their quest across the sea. Newstar and Teru, Zhantee and Shenshen, and Dart, were nudged into the Palace by the white wolf. But Scouter, it seemed, had chosen to stay behind. 

“So we part here,” Dart extended a hand to his uncle. 

“You know I’ll be protecting the Sun Village,” Grayling nodded. “But you need to be with your parents now, and our birth tribe. Hansha and I will howl for you, Dart. And you’ll hear us.” 

Dart embraced his uncle, then turned back to the Palace. Suntop and Venka rushed to hug Grayling farewell – Venka’s embrace warm and tender, Suntop’s distant and pained. “Come back and visit me soon,” Grayling said. “Maybe we’ll find you a wolf-friend from the next litter of jackwolves, Suntop.” 

The boy summoned a brave smile. 

Swift hustled them into the Palace, then embraced her brother one last time. 

“We’ll be back soon,” she insisted. “With the Palace now flying, no distance can separate the Wolfriders.” 

“The world is changing faster than I ever could have imagined.” He touched her cheek fondly. “And you’re not the little sister I remember from Father Tree. You’ve grown up... become a true chief.” 

“And so have you.” Swift hugged him once more. 

* * * 

The Palace disappeared into the late morning light, and the silver glow became no more than a spot of sunlight bouncing off the cliffs. The villagers slowly retreated back to their farms and huts. Grayling and Hansha remained on the rocks, listening to the wind drift over the hills. 

“I like your top-knot,” Hansha said at length. 

Grayling blushed. 

“What now?” Hansha asked. 

Grayling glanced at his lifemate. “Now? Now I get back to work. Shushen still can’t keep from falling off his jackwolf, and Scouter needs to know the rules of our pack.” 

“And that’s it?” 

Grayling considered it. “And that’s it,” he finally said. He took Hansha’s hand in his and they walked back to the village together.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the full EQ Alternaverse at http://www.janesenese.com/swiftverse


End file.
